Bittersweet Obsessions-Sunshine1220
by The Pick-A-Prompt Contest
Summary: When a simple detour leads to tragedy, the need to know more leads to obsession.


2018 TFN Pick-A-Prompt Contest

Title: Bittersweet Obsessions 

Summary: When a simple detour leads to tragedy, the need to know more leads to obsession.

Rating: M

Word Count: 9515

DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Prompt: I Google her name because I feel like I should know more about the woman I killed.

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"Are you kidding me?"

The torrent of rain falling from the sky isn't an unusual thing to see here in Seattle, but the traffic jam resulting from an accident, who knows how far down the road, has clogged the route I usually travel, and I'm already late for a meeting.

The asshole behind me blares his horn, and I flip him the bird in response.

"Idiot," I mumble to myself. "Where the hell do you think I'm gonna go, huh?" I ask rhetorically.

As we inch along the pavement, I see an opening in the traffic and get over into the next lane, close enough to make a break from the insanity. I'm not all that familiar with the less traveled side streets, but at least I'm moving. With my wipers swish-swishing at the falling raindrops, I try to navigate the labyrinth that is downtown.

The sound of my cell rings over the car speakers, my Bluetooth alerting me to an incoming call.

 _Peter Whitlock calling_ lights up my dash display, and with the thumb of the hand not holding my travel mug, I press the button on my steering wheel to answer.

"Yeah, man, what's up?"

"Where the hell are you, Garrett?" His voice is low, hiding in an empty office to call and see where my sorry ass is, no doubt.

"I got held up in traffic."

"How much longer will you be? They're getting impatient."

"Oh, um ..." I look around at the surrounding buildings, and I don't see anything remotely familiar. "Damn, Peter, I have no idea where I even am. All I know is I'm on the north side of downtown. I'll have to use the GPS to get me there."

"Well, if you're gonna be late anyway, you might as well stop and pick up something to make it seem like you were running an errand to kiss their asses."

I chuckle. "And why would I do that? We're web designers, not delivery boys."

"Because this is a big account. To get these guys to work with us would be huge."

"Okay, fine. What am I getting?"

"There's a great little bakery up that way. It's near Seattle Central. It's called Katie's Creations, and they have the _best_ cranberry orange muffins. And the owner is such a sweetheart. She always puts these little—"

"Peter! Hey! Okay," I say with a laugh. "You've made your point. Just text me the address, and I'll stop."

"Oh, I left my phone in the conference room. I'm at Eric's desk, using his phone. Tell me what street you're on, and I'll give you directions."

"I got off of 5 at Mercer, and now I'm on ..." I crane my neck as I look through the side window. "I'm on Virginia Street at Terry."

"Okay. Um, you might want to write this down, man. I know how you are with remembering this kind of shit."

"You don't think I can handle a few turn by turn directions?" I ask, genuinely offended.

"No, I don't," he deadpans.

"Fine. Hang on, and I'll grab a slip of paper and a pen."

As I'm stopped at a light, I reach over and open the glovebox and root around for something to scribble on, all while juggling my coffee. Deciding a napkin and Sharpie will suffice, I right myself in my seat. The light turns green, and I begin to drive.

"Okay, man, shoot," I say as I bring the flimsy excuse for a note and permanent marker to rest on the steering wheel. Between trying to hold my coffee, the napkin and pen, as I try to uncap the oversized marker, my hands seem to have a mind of their own, and the Sharpie goes flying at the same moment the mug tilts and spills onto my pants.

"Son of a bitch! Hang on, Pete. I spilled my coffee and dropped the damn pen."

Reflex causes me to look down and then reach back toward the glovebox for more napkins. And in that blink of an eye, that single moment in time changes the course of the rest of my life.

What I didn't realize, was in the moments leading up to that one, while I fumbled in the glovebox, focused on taking off the fucking marker cap, and then reaching to grab a napkin to clean up the spill, I didn't see the traffic light half a block ahead of me change from green to yellow. I didn't see the neighboring cars slow to a stop as the light finally turned to red. And I never saw the compact car cross my path in the intersection.

They said her small BMW was no match for my SUV. I was told it took them nearly an hour to remove her from the wreckage. While I was in the ER having my wrist set, stitches to my brow and facial burns from the airbag treated, they worked to save her life.

I gave my statement to the police, numb and dazed as I watched from my vantage point, while they tried to save the woman's life.

In a cruel twist of fate, the trauma room they were treating her in was just across from where they were bandaging up my comparatively minor injuries. I watched as the doctors and nurses rushed in and out trying to save her life, all to no avail.

When the chaos surrounding her calmed, after they cleaned and readied her, covering her with a crisp, white sheet, a man was brought in. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his hair looking like it was standing on end after being abused by nervous hands. His facial features, sharp enough to be seen from my vantage point many, many feet away, won't be what I remember most about him that day.

No, what I'll remember most is the way he stood over her body, seemingly unaffected, emotionless, as he looked at her lifeless form. Watching his stillness from afar... How he could react that way to her life being cut short haunts me, even now.

The days following the accident, I rested at home. My family and friends fussed over me, bringing me food that would go uneaten, and their company that would go unnoticed. Peter's wife, Charlotte, especially doted on me, encouraging me to get counseling.

" _I've got this great friend, and she specializes in these kinds of cases, Gar."_

'These kinds of cases,' _I internally scoffed. "No, I'll be fine."_

I didn't want to speak about the accident, so I avoided it if I could, changing the subject or just ignoring their attempts at making me talk about things. All of which only served to upset my mother. She insisted that if I got it all out, relived it, I would feel better. I had my doubts.

Just yesterday, when Officer Call finally came speak to me, I was told there would be no criminal charges. The evidence they had collected hadn't warranted any. I was abiding by the law, using my hands-free Bluetooth. While I happened to be drinking coffee while driving, it isn't yet illegal to eat or drink while behind the wheel. Right now, it's only a proposed addition to Washington State's distracted driving laws. I would still be financially responsible for the crash, because I did run a red light, and therefore open to any civil suit the other family wanted to bring against me. But in the end, it was deemed, sadly, just an accident.

An accident.

A careless mistake that cost a woman her life. I still haven't been able to wrap my brain around it; how a simple chain of ordinary events could alter the lives and futures of so many people.

The obituary in yesterday's paper gave me just enough details about the woman who lost her life to make me want to learn more about her. A twenty-seven-year-old woman ... a wife. A man lost his wife because of me. A family lost a daughter; many lost their friend ... all because of me.

When I got tired of feeling like the walls of my apartment were closing in on me, going to work, if only for a change of scenery, seemed like a good idea.

"Hey." Peter raps his knuckles gently on my open office door. "We're gonna go grab a bite to eat. You wanna come?"

"Nah, you guys go ahead and go. I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay, but if you change your mind and want me to pick up something for you, shoot me a text."

"Will do."

The quiet chatter of my office mates makes its way toward the elevator. The loft space we rent is in an old building, the exposed brick and old service-style elevator adds to its edgy appearance while making the acoustics unique.

When I hear them lower the gate on the elevator door and the motor engage to carry them to ground level, I feel like I can breathe.

They've done their best to make my return to work pleasant, but even I know I'm not _really_ ready to be back here. But, it's better than the alternative; sitting idle at home.

The folded newspaper on my desk, buried under a stack of files, goes with me almost everywhere. Every time I start to feel like it's going to be a good day, that I might smile again, I read her obituary. I need to feel the pain, feel a fraction of the anguish her loved ones must be feeling.

I slide it out from under the pile and read it for probably the hundredth time.

 _Katrina 'Kate' Dawn Cullen, 27, was taken from this earth on Tuesday, March 14, 2017. She was preceded in death by her maternal and paternal grandparents. She is survived by Edward, her husband of three years. She also leaves behind..._

I fold the paper and gently shove it aside, reading all I can for now. The constant need to learn the trivial details of her life are nearly consuming me, and yet, it's not nearly enough. I want to know everything I can about this woman; if she was happy, if she was fulfilled, and oddly enough, what she looked like. In all the information I was given about her identity, which wasn't much, I've yet to see a picture of her. And the memory of watching the man looming over her body still troubles me. How could someone react so coldly to losing a loved one?

The chime of my phone alerts me to yet another email notification. As I reach for my cell, an idea crosses my mind. Checking the clock to make sure Peter and Eric won't be returning from lunch anytime soon, I log into my laptop. I have dozens of emails and notifications; many work-related, and some from people checking in on my well-being. I ignore them all and open my browser, clicking the Google search box.

 _Katrina Cullen, Seattle_

My search yields dozens of articles. The first page of the search results is about the crash that took her life. I click next and scroll through until I reach a few things that catch my attention.

 _Katrina Cullen, owner of Katie's Creations, killed in crash._

The headline of the article is enough to get me to click on it. The irony that I was headed to her bakery is not lost on me. If I had stayed my course, decided to just go straight to the office, I never would have crossed her path.

The article rehashes many of the details I am all too familiar with but goes on to say the future of the establishment she owned is unknown. The link provided to Katie's Creations is said to be a good place to show your support of the business, as well as the family.

I'm redirected to Facebook, and the page is post after post of support for the family and Kate's coworkers. Many suggest a fundraiser, t-shirts, and advertising campaigns to raise money to keep the business going.

I scroll past the new posts until I reach older ones. Words typed out by the woman herself. The most recent in the feed being one she must've made shortly before the crash.

 _Katie's Creations - Good morning, Seattle! Katie here! Have you been by lately to try our newest creation? Our salted caramel apple crumble bars are fresh from the oven this morning! We still have all your old favorites, too, freshly prepared and ready to go!_

 _And don't worry, even if we bake too much, any of yesterday's offerings will find their way into the hands of the less fortunate at Mary's Place on Stewart and 9th! Don't forget, their clothing drive is going on now through April 1st! I'm headed there now!_

 _Have a sweet day!_

 _March 14 at 7:58 AM_

I fall back hard, against my chair, scrubbing my hands over my face. Not only was she loved by her family, friends, and community, she was also a generous human being, giving her time and talents to those who needed a helping hand.

Sitting straight, I go back to scrolling. Pictures of the cakes, cookies, and muffins are the prominent feature of the bakery's page. But as I click directly on the photos page, I also find pictures of customers alongside employees. As Kate's profile picture is that of a darkened profile, I'm unsure which of the employees is her.

With a shaky hand, I click on her name. When I see her account is public, I sigh. It's a combination of relief and anxiety. This is what I wanted, to learn details of this woman's life, to know who she was.

I'm not naive enough to believe the picture we choose to show the world on social media is a true representation of who we really are, but it's enough to show us a glimpse. And that's enough ... for now.

Her posts chronicle her daily life, but none are very recent; most of her posts are from more than a year ago. The struggles of running a business, the silly moments with her friends, her frustration with her husband over not picking up his dirty laundry but her undying devotion to him, all of it shows me a side of a woman I'll never meet.

Scrolling through old photographs and posts, I realize the cold, emotionless man from the hospital is, indeed, her husband. Why he reacted that way, I will never begin to understand. Wanting to know more about him, I try to find more information. Typing Edward Cullen into the search bar gives me many results, but none I am looking for.

Her husband's account appears to be non-existent. His lack of a Facebook account is a surprise, seeing that the woman he shared his life with was so open on her own page. Well, up until a year ago.

That day began what some might liken to an obsession. Years and years of posts and pictures, many of her husband, profiles of friends and family, all of it became my focus; an incessant need to learn everything I could about Kate Cullen.

I start and end my days looking through photographs, watching videos, listening to her laughter as if she's in the room with me. I go down the list of friends, those tagged in pictures, trying to get a better idea of her life. I find myself thinking about her at random times through my day, replaying those snippets of video or photographs in my mind. And as the days, weeks and months pass, I feel like I know her.

I find myself driving past the little bakery on Pine quite often, the _Sorry We're Closed_ placard hanging in the window, the storefront sign removed. Even Kate's Creation's Facebook page has been taken down. Apparently, all the attempts at keeping it open were all for not. But weeks later, the pull is too much. The need to feel that tiny connection to a woman I've come to think of as a friend is overwhelming, and I find myself once again driving past the bakery. But, this time, the building looks different. The awning over the door is new, striped pink and white replacing the hunter green, and the sign hanging out front displaying a new name.

Swan's Sweets Bakery and Cafe

Puzzled, I find a spot to park and make my way inside, the _Under New Ownership_ sign greeting me in the window.

"Good morning! Welcome to Swan's Sweets," the disembodied voice calls out from what I assume is the kitchen. "I'll be right with you."

I peruse the display cases, noting the variety available. I never made it to Katie's Creations before they closed, so I can't compare the present set up to anything. As I'm bent down to look at the colorful cupcakes and decorated cookies, that melodic voice surprises me.

"See anything you like?"

Standing straight, I'm met with the smile of a beautiful, young woman. Her brown eyes are captivating, her long, dark brown hair tied into a ponytail at her back, and she's barely tall enough to reach over the cases. But what she lacks in height, she more than makes up for in personality. Her smile is contagious.

"What do you recommend?"

"Oooh ... I don't know. There are a lot of things to choose from. I guess it depends on what you're in the mood for."

"Sweet, but not too sweet," I offer.

"Hmm, well, maybe a muffin? Oh, we've got some cranberry walnut scones that are to die for!"

"Sure. A scone sounds good."

"Just one?"

"Please."

I watch her as she uses a square of thin, white paper to grab a scone as she reaches for a bag. "Oh, I forgot to ask if this was for here or to go."

Looking around the small seating area, I'm impressed with the arrangement of small bistro tables. "I guess I can take a few minutes and eat it here. Thanks."

She plates the scone and asks if I'd like something to drink.

"Coffee?" I respond, sounding more like a question than an answer.

"One coffee coming right up."

Once I'm served, I settle at a corner table, watching the occasional customer come and go. It's a nice change for me, to be able to people watch and not focus so much on the tragedy of the last few months.

"So, what brought you to Swan's Sweets? Did you see our advertisements?" she asks me after another customer has come and gone. Her excitement is contagious, and I can't help but smile along with her.

"I was just driving by and thought I'd stop."

"Well, I hope you'll make it a regular stop on your route."

Her genuine smile and friendly personality make my response an easy one. "I'm sure I will."

My visits to Swan's Sweets do become a regular thing. The young woman, who I've come to know is the owner, Bella, is friendly and always willing to talk. She's animated when she speaks, and so full of life. It's a welcome change for me, to have something positive to focus on.

I stop in on Mondays and Thursdays, giving me something to look forward to. After months of self-loathing and depression, it's a refreshing change to have something positive to look forward to. I'm smiling more, and even Peter and Eric have noticed a change in me. Bella's easy to talk to demeanor makes her that much more appealing, her understated beauty aside. When asked about her personal life, she doesn't share much, but that she's currently seeing someone. But until there's a ring on her finger, I won't give up hope that won't change.

Tonight, I'm spending my evening looking at Bella's Facebook account. I found her through the bakery's page, but unfortunately, her profile is set to private. I don't have the nerve to send her a friend request, so, for now, I'm content to stalk what public information she _does_ have posted.

She's a twenty-six-year-old graduate of the culinary program at Seattle Central. Her hometown of Forks Washington is a speck on the map, and their page doesn't boast much except for a few, small tourist attractions centered around some movie. She's been _in a relationship_ since January 2016, but no name is listed.

I scroll through the dozens of profile pictures, and while not explicit by any means, they're provocative enough to get my attention. One, in particular, taken February of last year, shows her out with friends, most likely at a club. She's in a revealing dress, snug and low-cut. A man's left arm is wrapped around her waist, his face turned from the camera, only showing his ear and half a cheek.

But, as I narrow my focus, there's something familiar about the man. The lights of the club bounce off his form, illuminating his broad shoulders, the disarray of his messy hair, and if I tilt my head just right, look a little closer, the stubble on his face highlights the unmistakable, sharp jaw that I've seen in countless posted pictures on Kate's wall. The same one I saw so many weeks ago in that hospital trauma room, a memory that will forever be burned into my brain...

Edward Cullen.

As I go to bed, seething over what I've found, I know I need to do something. I need to right this wrong ... for Kate. As I toss and turn, I think of a plan, a way to serve justice on behalf of the woman who can't do it for herself because of me.

The next morning, I find myself back at Swan's Sweets. I'm not usually here on Tuesdays, so the look of surprise is evident on Bella's face.

"Back for more?" she asks with a smile.

"Yeah, I just couldn't stay away," I say with forced pleasantness. She doesn't seem to notice the insincerity of my greeting and turns to pour me a cup of my regular coffee.

"So is it my charming personality that has you back in here two days in a row?" she asks as she turns back to me, coffee mug in hand. The smile on her face seems genuine, but now that I know she was sleeping with another woman's husband, I don't trust she isn't a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Something like that," I say as I take the mug from her.

"So, what can I get you today?"

"How about you surprise me."

"Sure." She examines the case, her eyes lighting up when they land on the brownies. "Ah! You haven't tried one of these yet." She reaches into the case and pulls one out, plating it before handing it to me. "This is my boyfriend's favorite," she says proudly.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He says he'll take a tried and true favorite over trying something new any day."

"Is that a fact?" I ask as I take my usual seat in the corner.

"Yeah. He's always been that way. But that's one of the things I love about him. He's loyal to a fault."

Choosing the exact wrong moment to try and swallow a bite of my brownie, I choke on the confection as she speaks.

"Oh my god! Are you okay?" She rushes out from behind the counter to assist me as I try and catch my breath.

"Yeah," I wheeze out. "I'm fine." I pound the side of my fist against my chest. "Must've gone down the wrong pipe."

"Well, let me get you some water." She scurries away and is back with a bottle of water before I can protest.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. And you're sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Bella."

After watching me with narrowed eyes for a moment, she nods, seeming to be satisfied I'm not going to drop dead in her bakery.

"So tell me about this loyal, brownie-loving boyfriend of yours."

A secret smile plays on her lips. "His name is Edward Masen, and he's a couple of years older than me. He's in real estate, and we've been together a little more than a year."

"Real estate, huh? Is that how you got such a prime location?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess this place used to be owned by a woman who passed away earlier this year. It was already set up for a bakery, and Edward snatched it up the day it was available; maybe even before. He had been looking for a space for me for a while."

The bell over the door chimes and our attention is drawn to the man walking in.

"Well, speak of the devil." Bella's excitement at seeing Edward is palpable as she rushes from behind the counter.

"Hey, baby."

Their greeting isn't quite appropriate for a public display, but it doesn't stop me from watching them with a morbid fascination. My mind drifts and I wonder if he ever greeted Kate the same way, with roaming hands and intense kisses.

Bella eventually slips from his arms, and as if remembering they weren't alone, she turns to me.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. That was so rude and unprofessional." She tugs Edward by the hand in my direction and makes the introductions. "Baby, this is one of my regular customers, Garrett. Garrett, this is my amazing boyfriend, Edward."

He glances in my direction, nods his hello and turns back to Bella. In that brief moment our eyes meet, I panic that he'll recognize me, that he's done the same kind of online stalking I've been guilty of these past months, studying the man who killed his wife.

But there's no flash of recognition in his eyes, no familiarity. Before today, we've never, knowingly, shared a room. I was never criminally charged with any crime, never brought before a judge in open court, our insurance companies and attorneys handling things, only requiring our signatures, so he's never laid eyes on me.

The days pass, I find myself making many trips to Swan's Sweets. Peter's calls are incessant, and I finally tell him I'll be working from home until further notice. I don't come just to chat with Bella anymore, either. No, our talks have brought me to the realization she had no idea what her lover was up to, so I don't hold her responsible for any deception on Edward's part. I sometimes spend hours outside the bakery in my car waiting for Edward to make an appearance, trying to decide what will hurt him most.

The decision is made for me a week later when Bella proudly shows me her engagement ring.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"It is. So, he popped the question, did he?" I try; really try to keep the disgust out of my voice. How this man could betray poor, sweet Kate by carrying on an affair with the woman before me, I will never know. And by the same token, how could he deceive sweet Bella Swan?

It's as these thoughts roll through my head that I devise a plan, something that will, unfortunately, hurt Bella but will save her from a life of heartache.

As the printer whirls and whines as it spits out photograph after photograph, I feel justified in what I'm about to do. If I am to give Kate's soul any peace and save Bella from an uncertain future, I know I need to do this.

I make it a point to be there when the courier delivers the envelope. It's a quiet afternoon, between rushes of customers. She signs for it with a smile on her face, and it nearly breaks my resolve.

"Wonder what this could be?" she asks excitedly. "It's kinda heavy. Oh!" Her eyes light up. "Maybe Edward bought tickets for our honeymoon already!"

She quickly breaks the seal on the envelope.

Her expression quickly morphs from excitement to confusion as she reads the enclosed, typed letter; the one explaining the contents of the envelope, the visible proof of the other life led by Edward Masen, or rather, Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.

She unceremoniously dumps the contents of the envelope on the counter, one after the other bringing tears to her eyes as she looks through them.

"Everything okay?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"No," she croaks. "It's not."

The angle she's standing at, I can see she has one of the many wedding pictures of Edward and Kate. I'm looking directly at her as she lifts her head to face me.

"I'm sorry, but I need to close the cafe."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, um, it's a family emergency." She's fighting back the tears, and I suddenly question if I've done the right thing.

I pat my pockets, searching out a business card and hand it to her. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"I will. Thank you, Garrett."

She never called. For days, the little bakery cafe, where I spent hours chatting with her, getting to know her, was closed. The sign in the window stated _family emergency_ as the reason for the closure. But I knew better. She was either confronting the pig she had agreed to marry, or she was home licking her wounds. Neither scenario brought me any comfort.

I drove past Sweet Swan's almost daily, for weeks, days I spent worrying about her well-being. Her Facebook became ultra-private, no longer giving _any_ personal details, and it nearly drove me to madness. I _needed_ to know she was okay. When I drove past the cafe the final time, though, I wasn't greeted by the cheerful, striped awning; it was gone. No, the vacant space displayed an _Available_ sign in the window.

I finally broke down and sent her a friend request, if only to make sure she was okay. When she accepted, I was anxious to see what she had been up to since I last saw her. With her relationship status changed to single and her current city changed to San Diego, I knew the pain of living here must've been too much. She'd fled.

Weeks passed, and my fixation on Edward Cullen and the pain he caused grew. I began waiting for him outside his office. His routine didn't vary much from going to work and going home for the first week or two I observed him. Then occasional stops at a nearby watering hole turned into regular visits. He'd spend hours there, drinking away his self-inflicted sorrows.

Tonight, I'm seated at the bar of The Red Carpet Lounge, a little dive bar off the beaten path. Nursing a beer, I'm angled toward the door, so I can see when he walks in. When he finally makes his appearance, he's rumpled and disheveled, looking like he hasn't slept in days.

"Your usual?" the bartender asks him.

He only nods in agreement. When the drink is set in front of him, he doesn't waste any time, downing it quickly.

"Am I leaving the bottle again, man?"

"Yeah," he rasps, the burn undoubtedly sliding down his throat.

I study him, and I still feel no remorse for what I've done, telling Bella of his deception. _She's better off without him_ , I tell myself. _She'd have only ended up like Kate, cheated on and likely heartbroken_ , I reason.

His second glass goes down slower, and as he reaches to pour himself another, our gaze meets. A flicker of recognition flashes in his eyes.

"Hey." His brow furrows in confusion. "Gary? No, Garrett, right?"

"Hey. Yeah, Garrett," I reply. "How've you been, Edward, is it?" I ask, feigning ignorance.

He scoffs. "Yeah, that's me, good old Eddie. And I've been just great. My life is just fantastic, no, craptastic. As if the last few years of my life weren't a big enough steaming pile of horse shit," he says mockingly as he slams down the bottle after filling his glass.

I move over a couple of stools and sit down beside him. "So, I saw the cafe was closed. How's Bella?" I ask, knowing full well his answer.

"Gone." He's staring down at his glass like he could find the answers to all of life's problems swirling around inside of it.

A feeling of satisfaction comes over me, but I tamp it down. May as well push him while I can.

"Yeah? What happened? She was there one day then gone the next. Where did she go?"

"Went to stay with some friends," he mutters as he brings the glass to his lips again.

"Is she-"

"I don't fucking know!" His outburst makes me jump back in my seat. "Some asshole decided to stick their nose where it didn't belong, told her things they didn't understand, and now she's gone. And I'll probably never see her again." With his elbows on the bar, he grips his hair in frustration.

"What the hell happened?"

He's silent for a long while before he drinks what's left in his glass. "My life was shit before I met her, you know?" he finally says, ignoring my question. "And she was like the sun, something I could count on."

"She really was, wasn't she? Always had a smile on her face when I stopped by."

"She did," he says with a nod. "And I'll never forget the look on her face when she threw my ring back in my face. Her smile was gone, and I was the one took it.

I get up from my barstool then and step to his side. Leaning close to his ear, I whisper, "Then maybe you shouldn't have made her the other woman."

I make it about four steps from the door before I hear his growling words.

"You son of a bitch." The bottle shatters against my head before I can turn to face him. I'm momentarily stunned as Icrash into a nearby high-top table, my hands gripping the edges, trying not to fall.

"It was you!" His screams grow louder, and he's on me quickly. I gather my wits and turn to face him. As we're throwing punches and blocking blows, other patrons try to separate us. With the threat of the cops being called, we're unceremoniously tossed out the door and onto the sidewalk.

We stare each other down with narrowed eyes and heaving chests.

"Why?" he yells. "Why did you do it?" He wipes at his split lip.

"She deserved better. She deserved to know you made her second to Kate." I pull off my jacket and bring it to the back of my head. I may need stitches.

"Second to ... How did you even know about Kate? I ..." His confusion is evident, but he eventually begins to piece together the puzzle pieces. "Wait," he says, scratching his head. "Garrett was the name of the man on all the paperwork," he mumbles. "What's your last name? Are you the one that killed my wife?"

"Smith," I answer. "And yes, I'm the one that caused the accident that killed Kate." It's the first time I've said those words aloud, and it brings me to my knees. "I'm the one that killed that poor, innocent, beautiful woman." I drop to my ass, my legs out before me as I lean back against the brick of the bar.

Edward takes a few steps away from me, his hands on his hips, and stares out into the darkening sky.

"You know, I used to think so, too." He turns to look at me. "So, trust me when I tell you Kate wasn't a beautiful person."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up before sitting on the curb, his back to me.

"So, what? You're happy Kate was out of your way? Made you free to pursue Bella?" I start to get to my feet before he turns and gives me a scathing look.

"No, asshole, I'm not happy Kate's dead. Happiness and relief aren't the same things."

"How could you—"

"You have no idea what she was like to live with, man." He shakes his head. "Tricked me into marrying her and then wouldn't let me go. I had no choice but to make another life for myself."

"There's always another choice."

 **...**

My choices led me to make a move of my own. After Edward and I parted ways that night in front of the bar, I did some soul-searching. I convinced Peter and Eric to allow me to work remotely. I packed my apartment and headed south. It only took me a week to track her down, and when I finally found her, I wasn't a day too soon.

Seeing her behind the counter of the family-owned bakery was a familiar sight, but her appearance made my heart sink.

"Garrett?" she asks as I step to the counter. Her dull eyes showed no spark of the vivacious woman she was only months ago, and her thinning form told me she wasn't taking care of herself. "How are you in San Diego? _Why_ are you in San Diego?"

"Hey, Bella. I decided the sun could do me some good."

"But your job? You loved it."

"Eh," I say with a shrug. "That's the beauty of the computer. I can work from anywhere."

The weeks to follow were good. I made stopping at the bakery where she worked a part of each morning, bringing something to brighten her day. Wrapped candies, silly trinkets I'd spot while exploring my new city, and the occasional flower were common offerings. I started to see her become more like her old self little by little, and I'd like to believe I had something to do with it.

We begin to meet up after hours, too. Seeing the city, dinner out and evenings spent watching movies in one of our apartments are the norm, and we've fallen into a comfortable routine. I gently push for more, but she always pulls back. Her trust issues are still very apparent, and I don't think that will ever change.

Tonight is different, though. Curled up together on my sofa, watching yet another romantic comedy, her head is leaning on my shoulder. It's a much more intimate position than we're usually in. I find myself looking down at her, captivated by her beauty. When she lifts her gaze to mine, I seize the moment and capture her lips in a gentle kiss.

It's tentative, cautious, and over far too soon.

"Why did you do that?" she whispers.

"I couldn't help myself." I search your eyes for some sign that she's feeling half of what I'm beginning to feel for her.

"You really shouldn't have done that, Garrett." Her voice is still quiet.

"Why?"

"I'm not ready. My heart still—"

"Shh." I place my finger on her lips, gently quieting her. "I'm not asking you for anything but to try. I'm here, right in front of you, and I'm falling so in love with you." I move closer, my lips just a breath away from hers. "Don't think. Just ... feel."

My lips touch hers once again, gently, and I'm soon lost in the sensation of kissing her. My hands snake around her, one at her waist and one at the back of her neck, holding her closer. Leaning toward her, I lower her down onto the sofa and cover her body with mine.

She's kissing me back, but the passion I feel for her, I don't feel it being reciprocated, so I hold her a little tighter, savoring this moment with her in my arms.

It's over far too soon when she pulls away and pushes against my shoulder. "Stop, Garrett. I told you I'm not ready."

I scramble off her, my heart pounding, and I suddenly feel like a monumental ass.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I—"

She jumps to her feet. "I need to go." She's scrambling for her belongings and sliding on her sandals, making her way to the door.

"Bella, wait!"

"No, I'm sorry if I led you on, but I'm not ready to move on. I can't ... My heart still belongs to him. I'm sorry ..." In a flash, she's gone.

I fall into a nearby chair, unable to stand on my own feet any longer. It pains me to think she'll never be able to move on and be truly happy; that she'll never be able to return the feelings I have for her. My motives for sending her pictures of Edward's deception were for her to have a happy life, and I wanted her to have it with me. Months have passed since the day I had the envelope full of pictures delivered to her cafe, and she still isn't over him.

I avoid the bakery for a couple of weeks, hoping the space will do her some good. When I finally return, she's friendly, but not overly so. Her once outgoing personality seems a bit closed off, and I know I have no one to blame but myself.

"How have you been?" I ask her as I step to the counter.

"I've been good. Very busy. We've got Easter coming up, so we're swamped with cookie and pie orders."

"I would imagine so." I glance at the display cases, not really seeing anything, before looking back at her. "You think we could go somewhere and talk?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so. After my shift, maybe? I need to run home and change first, but I can meet you somewhere after," she suggests.

"How about I just meet you at your place? We could order a pizza later or something."

She seems skeptical but finally nods in agreement. "Yeah, that would be fine. I'm off at three today."

"Okay, I'll see you later, then. Say, four?"

"Sounds good."

I'm out in front of her place by three, too anxious to wait. I watch as she arrives and lets herself in. I close my eyes and think of her scurrying around her home, getting ready for my arrival. She undoubtedly needs to wash off the sweat and grime of the day after working in the kitchen of the bakery, so she must be making her way to the shower by now.

I haven't been with a woman since the accident, the guilt and grief making me a shell of the man I was before. I didn't even have the urge to go looking for company, but all that changed the day I saw Bella behind the counter of her cafe. I began to _feel_ again that day. Images of her under the hot spray of her shower flood my mind, and I grow hard.

I open my eyes, acutely aware of where I am. I need to stop before I just whip out my dick and jack off here in my car in broad daylight. I'm not sure an arrest for indecent exposure would earn me many points with Bella.

The minutes tick by, and when I can't wait any longer, I get out of my car and approach her door. It opens before my knuckles can rap a third time, and she looks relatively happy to see me.

"Hey," she says shyly.

"Hey."

"Come on in." She steps out of the way and lets me pass. "So, living room okay for this chat?" she asks from behind me. I can tell she's nervous for some reason.

"That's fine." I try to sound reassuring, and the small smile she gives me tells me she's okay with me being here.

After we've both curled into opposite corners of her sofa, we face each other. She looks at me expectantly, and I know I need to be the one to start this conversation.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I should never have kissed you without asking. I took things too far. It was wrong and presumptuous, and I promise not to do it again, unless you ask me to."

She's quiet but nods.

"And it doesn't change the way I feel about you, but I know I pushed you too far, and for that, I'm sorry."

"Thank you." She's quiet, pondering what to say next, I'm sure. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to move on, though."

"But, it's been months since you left Seattle. Isn't it time you at least tried? Maybe see where you and I could go?"

"I loved him, Garrett, deeply," she whispers. "I trusted him with my heart, but he broke that trust. I planned on marrying him, spending the rest of my life with him, and those feelings don't just go away. I'm still such a mess when I think about it. Just because he lied to me doesn't take away from the fact that I still love him. He was my forever. My head knows it over, but no one has explained it to my heart," she says softly.

I offer a sad smile, understanding she needs time. It just shows me how deeply she loves, with her entire being, and I fall just a little harder for her.

"But I've missed having a friend here." She reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

"So, how about that pizza?" she asks at the same time there's a knock at the door.

"You get that, and I'll order." I stand from the sofa. "Are the menus in the same spot in the kitchen?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Garrett." Her smile is blinding, and I almost sag in relief. This is just another step toward making her see how good we could be together.

I rummage through the drawer of take-out menus and flyers, looking for the place that makes the specialty pizza she loves so much while she deals with the visitor at the door. I finally spot what I'm looking for, and there's a coupon to boot. Grabbing the scissors from the drawer, I begin to cut it from the flyer.

The muffled voices from the front room get louder, and soon I hear Bella crying. I bolt from the kitchen, and as I turn the corner, I see a man before her, on his knees, with his arms wrapped around her middle.

"I'm so sorry, Bella. I never meant to hurt you." His sobs are muffled into her shirt, and as I step closer, I see the unmistakable, familiar riot of unruly, bronze hair.

"Shh. I know, I know." Tears are streaming down her face when she turns to glance at me before turning her attention back to the man wrapped around her.

I'm shocked, frozen in my spot as she allows the man who hurt her so deeply to touch her this way.

"I'm doing everything I can to get you back, baby. I'm going to do whatever it takes. I sold my house and moved here. I've been seeing a shrink, and I still want a life with you. I love you so much," he pleads.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" My outburst gets Edward's attention, a look of confusion on his face.

"What ...? Bella?" he asks, turning to look up at her. "What is he doing here?"

"Garrett moved down here a few months back, and we've gotten ... close."

He gets to his feet, wiping the errant tears from his cheeks. "So, what, you're together now?" he asks angrily.

"No, it's not like that," Bella is quick to correct him. "We're just ..." She looks my way before turning back to Edward. "We're friends, Edward. Nothing more."

"Except it is," I say, standing my ground. I'll be damned if I let this lying, cheating asshole sweet talk his way back into her life. "She's moved on, Edward. So maybe you should move along."

"Garrett!" she chastises me. "Don't you _dare_ presume to speak for me! Whatever Edward and I have to talk about is between him and me." She looks back at the seething man in her doorway before turning back at me. "Maybe it's best if you go."

"I'm not going anywhere." I'm standing my ground, not willing to give this creep an opportunity to encroach on any progress I've made with Bella. "You and me—"

"Are friends, Garrett, and nothing more. Regardless of what you want."

"Wait! Was that your plan all along? To break us up by sending those pictures? To follow her all the way here and move in on her?" Edward's protective stance over Bella gives me pause, but I don't back down, so I miss the look of surprise taking over Bella's face.

"You? You're the one that sent me the pictures?" She's confused at first, but then anger begins to color her features.

"I couldn't stand to see him hurting you, Bella. He lied to—"

"So did you," she screams. "You were there that day. You played dumb when that damn envelope showed up, but you knew all along what was in it, didn't you? And what? You came to watch me fall apart?" She's beautiful in her anger, her cheeks red and her chest heaving.

"I didn't want you to suffer the same fate Kate did!" I scream. "She was his wife, and he chose to lie to you. You deserved to know!" Frustration boils inside me as I clutch the scissors still in my hand.

"That bitch tried to destroy me!" Edward yells at me. "You have no idea what it was like to live with her. She tricked me into marrying her when she told me she was pregnant! Do you have any idea what it's like to find out she faked the whole thing just so she could marry me and sink her talons into me _and_ my family's name? Huh? To get a call from her doctor reminding her to make an appointment to have her IUD removed? That bitch broke _my_ heart. No," he says, shaking his head. "You have no idea what kind of woman she was. She stopped being my wife years ago."

"Then why not leave Kate? Why not tell Bella the truth from the beginning? Why lie to her? Continue to lie to her after Kate died? She deserved better!"

"I never left her because she had an iron-clad prenup. Only infidelity was a reason for me to leave her. I was waiting her out. And I know Bella deserved better. And I didn't tell her who I was from the beginning because I didn't want it to happen again. I never told her who I was because I wanted her to love me for who I was, not for the name and bank account that came with it." The fury in his eyes is blazing as he stares me down. "And who the fuck do you think you are? You kill my wife and what? Stalk her ghost? Track me down? Stalk my girlfriend and me? You wrecked my life, asshole. I may have fucked up, but I'm not a creepy stalker!"

"Hey, calm down," she whispers to him, her hand on his chest. "Garrett, Edward and I need to talk, privately. I think you need to leave," Bella pleads.

"No, please don't send me away. I deserve to be here as much as he does."

"No, Garrett, you don't. You need to go." Her words shock me. All the months I was here for her, the dutiful friend, a shoulder to cry on... She's delusional if she thinks I'm just going to walk away from her, from what we could be.

She's wrapped herself around the man who's come to take away the only good thing in my life, and I see red.

"No! I won't let you take her away from me!" My feet are moving before I stop to process the thoughts jumbling up my mind. My arm moves of its own volition, and I'm jabbing and swinging in my anger as the blood begins to pour from them both.

"I won't let you! I won't let you!" I scream, feelings of jealousy and rejection taking control until bittersweet numbness washes over me.

 **...**

"Denali, you've got company." The guard unceremoniously pushes me into the cell and smirks when I turn to look at him as he closes the cell door. "Make sure you show him the ropes."

The clanking of the cell door is loud, a finality to it I wasn't expecting. The small room is close to what I had pictured; a single sink and toilet in the corner and a double bunk taking up most of the space.

The large, tattooed man lying in the lower bed is so tall his feet hang over the edge as he relaxes with his hands behind his head. He doesn't speak at first, instead choosing to watch me. I put my prison-issued belongings on the top bunk and pause.

 _Now what?_

"Keep your shit to yourself, and we won't have a problem," the rumbling voice demands. His legs swing over the edge of his bed, as he unfolds himself from its confines. "And I don't have time to babysit you. Keep your nose outta trouble, 'cause I'm not gonna save your ass if you find any."

I nod, choosing to stay quiet.

Over the weeks and months to follow, I keep my head down, my mouth shut, and my ears open. I know who to steer clear of and who I can trust. While my cell mate, Eli, isn't someone I would call a friend, we've come to a mutual understanding. He ribs me when he can, and I stay out of his way.

"Smith," a guard calls out. "You got something today." He hands me the stamped envelope, and the return address brings a smile to my face. Peter Whitlock was one of the only friends to stick by me when I was arrested, his almost daily calls of encouragement helped me get through all of it. He even flew down for the sentencing.

I take the envelope from the guard on mail duty and bring it with me into the TV room. I settle into a chair as far away from the other inmates as I can get. Some are actually watching the cooking program playing on the screen. How they can torture themselves with watching food being prepared we'll never have access to, I'll never know. Most of the men around me, though, are rowdy and loud, but I tune it all out as I open the letter.

 _Garrett,_

 _Hope you're adjusting to things._

 _Man, this is harder than I thought it would be. I'm sorry things turned out the way they did. As hard as it was to watch you slip further and further away, it had to be that much harder for you. We watched the guilt eat away at you, and it killed us. Charlotte blames herself for not pushing you hard enough to talk to someone. I tried to tell her there wasn't anything any of us could have done differently._

 _But now you're where you are, and_ _hopefully, over_ _the next few years, you can find some peace, come to terms with what's happened. You always were kind of a masochist, so who knows, maybe this is what you want ... to pay for your sins._

 _You asked me to keep track of Edward and Bella. Being the_ _tech-savvy_ _man I am, I was able to track them down. They've settled in Chicago, where most of his family is, I guess. They got married last month. I printed off the newspaper announcement and enclosed it with this letter._

 _They look happy, Garrett. Whatever led all of you to where you are today, they're happy. I hope one day you can find that, too._

 _I'll write again soon. Take care of yourself._

 _Your friend,_

 _Peter_

I pull the other folded sheet from the envelope and smooth it out. The bold headline is the first thing to grab my attention.

 _Cullen heir returns to Chicago to wed_

The newspaper article details Edward Cullen's return to Chicago, the assault he and Bella suffered at my hand, and their months-long recovery. I skim over the specifics of my four-year sentence, instead focusing on the picture of Bella in her wedding dress. Her beaming smile looks back at me, and the corner of my mouth turns up in response. Not even the scarring she carries from my vicious attack can mar her beauty. She really does look happy. I just wish it was me making her feel that way. I find a little comfort in knowing she found her happily ever after, even if I didn't get mine. 

"Hey, Smith, you like muffins?" Eli asks, a sly grin on his face. All the assholes around him chuckle at his innuendo-laced question.

I turn away from them and head back to my cell, ignoring their whooping and catcalls as I go.

But, no, I think to myself, I never really liked muffins all that much anyway.


End file.
